


Red Red Red

by acidtonguejenny



Series: Dragon Age Kinkmeme Fills [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/acidtonguejenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian, stuck in the bad future, meets Cullen (in a manner of speaking).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13275.html?thread=50601947#t50601947) at the DA Kinkmeme.

The Inquisitor made it out. 

Dorian did not.

“She’s got the amulet,” Dorian told himself for the millionth time. “Everything will be alright.”

When he’d left Tevinter, he hadn’t quite planned on a heroic sacrifice. 

Dorian was mumbling to himself about paradoxes when the guards came, bound his hands, and dragged him out.

The man he was dropped before, he knew, had been the Commander of the Inquisition, in another life. Dorian observed him, taking in the glisten of corrupted lyrium beneath his skin, the crystal stalks protruding from his shoulders and smaller stones dotting his face. His right arm and leg were encased in a column of lyrium, trapping him against the wall. 

His luminescent eyes were vacant, and his chest moved with slow, even breaths of the dormant. 

One of the guards shoved his shoulder. “Go on then, do it.”

Dorian sneered tiredly. “Pray tell, what exactly am I to do?”

“Suck his cock.” Said the other, laughing. “You’ve been in that cage for months now. Bet you’re drooling for it.”

Dorian recoiled with disgust, eyes darting up to meet the inert Commander’s. He was caught between the prone figure and the guards’ legs.

“Surely you can’t be serious.” He said. “The man’s got even less going on in that head than the pair of you do.”

One of the guards grabbed a fistful of hair and jammed Dorian’s nose into the Commander’s crotch. “Funny, mage. Now get on with it.”

“Besides,” Dorian heard chainmail rustling. “His blood’s flowing, innit? Reckon that’s enough for our purposes.” More laughter.

“Indeed,” Dorian said, muffled. He felt soft flesh beneath his chin through heavy, dusty cloth. The Commander reeked of lyrium. Dorian tasted it when he breathed, felt the buzz of its nearness on his exposed skin. The hot scent of it was giving him a headache at the same time he began to salivate for it. He didn’t have to see himself to know his pupils were blown.

Oh, lyrium. How he loved to hate it.

The hand in his hair pressed him forward insistently.

“Get on with it, mage.”

Forgive me, Dorian thought numbly to the Commander, as he nosed at the man’s soft cock through the layers. You have a kind face. 

He didn’t even know his name.

Dorian attempted to distance himself from the current affair, envisioning a sunlit room, an open window leading to the ocean. Seabirds calling. Diaphanous drapes, billowing gently in the wind, and a lover who tasted of wine. 

What color would his eyes be? Dorian wondered, as he fit his mouth over the vague shape of balls. What color had they been, before the lyrium reached them, and changed them? Blue, perhaps, though possibly that was a little too on the nose. 

One of the guards helpfully reached forward, lifting the edge of the Commander’s tunic out of the way. The Commander’s clutch was obvious, with the drawstring of his britches all that separated him from Dorian’s ministrations. 

“Let him out like a good mage. Use your teeth.”

Dorian obliged. With a bracing intake of air, he clumsily sucked the Commander’s quiescent cock into his mouth, the guard’s grip forcing him to do so quickly. He coughed, unprepared.

“Thaaat’s it.” Hissed the second guard. Dorian heard chainmail again, and thought he caught a flash of motion in his peripheral vision. “Take that cock, mage. Make that Fereldan bastard see stars.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, but to his dismay, the flesh on his tongue was growing heavier, swelling. He had hoped to receive no reaction from the Commander. 

Alas, he thought with an inward sigh. Best try to finish this business quickly, then. 

Dorian bobbed his head, moving his mouth up and down the Commander’s length. He sucked firmly each time he drew off, and curled his tongue as he returned again.

Very soon into proceedings, his head began to throb behind his eyes from to the sheer quantity lyrium. The stuff was incredibly potent, and though he had begun to acquire something of an immunity to its indirect effects, this was getting to him. His muscles twitched, tiny, restless spasms in his shoulders and thighs, in his cheek. He squirmed fruitlessly against his bonds, and breathed deep, gasping breaths through his nose and around his burden. 

He was growing aroused. There was the cool hint of a sweat beginning at his back.

Then the first bead of wetness hit the back of his tongue, the Commander beginning to leak excitement, and Dorian made a shocked, strangled noise. His spine went violently straight and he shuddered as a painful zing went through him. His own cock throbbed between his legs. 

He panted in its wake, feeling as if he had been shaken by a giant.

“I knew you would want it,” said a distant voice. The hand abandoned its hold.

Lyrium. There was lyrium in his blasted come. Maker’s breath.

Dorian moaned, hollowing his cheeks, chasing that sinister, wonderful flavor. He probed the Commander’s slit with his tongue, dragging his teeth lightly down the shaft in a mockery of milking him. More, more, please.

There was a broken cry over his head. A guard, he dismissed; he had spied their pumping arms long ago. At first, he paid no mind to the touch to his head, the fingers gently tangling in his mussed hair. The angle was odd, the brush of a thumb over his cheek…strangely…

Dorian opened his eyes, squinting to see past the bloom of read that played with his vision, and saw the Commander awakened over him, gasping, with something approaching awareness in his glowing eyes. He had reached for him, and held his face so sweetly…

Dorian saw, in a flash, the sea. A bright, open room. A lover, flushed to his navel with pleasure.

Brown eyes, he decided. Shot with gold. A dark, thick honey shade. 

The Commander’s hand cupped the shape of his skull, his little finger stroking his nape.

Dorian could not restrain the desperate noise that spilled from his throat. The tip of his nose touched softly furred skin, the scent and taste of lyrium not quite overpowering those of man, of sweat and seed. The mixture was inebriating, debilitating. The Commander was powerfully hard, his flesh pulled tight, steadily leaking from the head as he neared his peak. Heady liquid ran down Dorian’s tongue and pooled beneath.

There were voices at his back, but Dorian couldn’t focus on words. His veins were aflame with lyrium, his belly hot as if with fever. His cock was hard enough to pound nails, and pulsing foretellingly. He was going to come. He was going to come now.

Dorian wrenched away with a cry, arching with the force of his orgasm, his throat bared. Lightning the deep red of blood cackled at his fingers, over his skin and in his mouth. His teeth tingled. His chest heaved, and he sobbed, eyes watering. 

The Commander came as well with a hoarse shout. Dorian felt a splash of heat on his skin, running into the hollow of his throat, and when he dropped his head, exhausted, a second burst hit his chin. He licked his lip thoughtlessly, shivering at the lyrium sting.

The Commander sagged, hanging from his trapped right side. The light in his eyes, that spark that spoke of humanity, of mercy and tenderness, was already fading. The warmth that had returned to the Commander’s skin was abandoning him. 

Dorian, resting his head on the Commander’s covered hip as he breathed, immediately mourned it, having not realized how the cold permeated his bones until it returned, the artificial fire of lyrium doing nothing to warm him.

It only burned. His throat felt scorched.

The guards said more, but Dorian did not hear them. Returned to his cell, his arms hanging at his sides, he curled up on his side in a corner and covered his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian was woken by furious fumbling at the door. He lifted his head off his bent arm and waited, wary. Surely the fool guards weren’t back? He could still _taste_ the Commander.

The angry whispering grew louder.

“...hurry _up_!”

“Shhh!”

“Arse of the Maker, what’s going on out there?” Dorian hissed through the grate at a similar volume.

“It’s a rescue, fancy pants!”

“Sera!”

“Fuck it all, both of you, budge over.”

“What are you--”

Metal wrenched. The lock, by Dorian’s guess, clattered noisily to the flagstones.

“Adaar?” Dorian said, aghast.

“That’s me. Hope you’re in sprinting shape, Dorian.”

“Guards!” called a, mercifully controlled, voice.

Adaar shouldered the door aside, destroying the remains of the lock, and grabbed Dorian by the arm.

“Come on!” She said, and threw him over her shoulder. “Book it, people!”

“Shit shit shit…!”

“A dwarf?” Dorian said. “You’re executing a jailbreak with a dwarf and two elves?” 

“Don’t forget the big arse qunari.” Huffed Varric.

“Oi! That’s Missus Inquisitor Big Arse Qunari.”

“Thank you, Sera.”

“You’re welcom--”

“Quickly! The amulet is gathering power!” Said the lookout, who appeared to be the only sane one in the bunch. “We must reach the northern gate!”

“We must reach the northern gate!” Sera sing-songed in a nasally imitation, and cackled. The lookout growled.

“Nearly there!” Adaar said, grinning. 

“I’ve gone mad,” Dorian said mournfully, and shared a brief look with the lookout before the world turned green and sparking.

~ ~ ~

(The Commander’s eyes, he found, were indeed brown, and he was a kind man, just one who happened to play a truly ruthless game of chess. 

If made to name the precise moment Dorian became smitten with the erstwhile Commander, it would be then, just after he’d realized he’d lost, when he looked up from the board and was met by that surprisingly guile smirk. 

The Commander’s name was Cullen. Dorian was perhaps too familiar with it, but he enjoyed it too much. The knowledge of it was a privilege, and a reminder that, he wholeheartedly believed, better things were in store for them.

If he felt a small fissure of pleasure, one might argue an echo, upon every use, well. No one was to know.)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy epilogue bits moved to Chapter 2, because the tonal dissonance was really getting to me.
> 
> Musical Inspiration: Red Red Red by Fiona Apple ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xj2ivyQSnBs)) c:


End file.
